Unnatural
by The Black Sun's Daughter
Summary: What made the clones so frightening, so eerie and disturbing, was not the fact that they looked like. It was that they had no dæmons.


**Laiguline - Estonian, "dappled" or "pied"**

 **Parantaja - Finnish, "healer"**

* * *

What made the Cleaner clones so frightening was not the fact that they were all unerringly alike, or that they carried an arsenal of guns. It was the fact that they had no dæmons. Not one of them had a dæmon, no bird on their shoulder, no cat or dog at their heels, no insect buzzing nearby, no lizard or snake creeping around their clothes. Nothing. It was this awful, gaping absence that made them so terrifying. Or rather, so unnerving. Seeing a person without a dæmon was like seeing a person without a face, or with their ribs laid open and their heart pulled out. It was unnatural, wrong.

And this clone was no different.

Jenny had to take several deep breaths to steady herself; at her feet, Zurial leant against her legs, nuzzling against her leg with his slender, pointed muzzle. "We'll be okay," he said softly.

"It's not me I'm worried about," she answered just as quietly before pushing open the door and walking into the room. Medical at the ARC was as well-stocked as any hospital; it had to be, considering the kind of creatures they dealt with on a daily basis. One couldn't exactly go hobbling into the St. Bart's casualty and say they'd been mauled by a velociraptor without raising serious questions. Right now, though, it was deserted but for two people and one dæmon. Only one.

Vivacia Palmer was affectionately called the Amazonian around the ARC, as she stood an impressive 6'5 in her bare feet and an even 6'6 with her boots on. She was head medic and a former soldier, still having enough muscle to arm-wrestle any SAS in the unit. Her dæmon was surprisingly small, though, a least weasel barely six inches long, by name of Parantaja, called Taj. Right now, Taj was curled around the back of Palmer's neck, half-hidden by her incredibly curly red hair, gathered in a bushy ponytail. As soon as Jenny walked in, Palmer crossed the room in three strides to stand at her side.

"How is it?" Jenny asked softly.

"Healing well, all things considered. Wasn't much more than some second-degree burns, barely missed third-degree. Bruised ribs, minor lacerations. Ought to be fine in two weeks or so," Palmer answered in a low voice, then frowned. "Jenny, look, you know you're my friend, but...that _thing_ cannot stay here much longer. I get cold all over looking at it, and not one other medic has shown up for duty since he got here. I don't blame them, either." There was a slightly desperate look in her eyes.

Jenny nodded, wishing that she were somewhere, anywhere else. "I'll talk to Lester, see if there isn't somewhere else to put it," she replied. "Now, tell me, what's it like? I mean, does it say anything, do anything? Problems?"

The giantess placed both hands on her hips, shaking her head slowly. "No. He'll follow orders when they're given, answer you when you ask him a question, but there's something...off about him. It's like he doesn't know how to think properly. He'll answer you, but only if you ask him a yes or no sort of question, or something that can be answered with a solid fact. But opinion, emotion? He's got nothing."

"Alright. I'll manage from here. Thank you, Palmer," Jenny said softly; the redhead nodded and walked out the door, Taj still wrapped around her nape protectively. Jenny stared at the lone figure sitting on one of the cots, allowed herself one shudder of revulsion, then drew herself up and walked over to the clone, Zurial following dutifully at her heels.

The clone of Nick Cutter was physically identical to him, from head to toe, though now this one bore a new scar, a curved cut on its cheekbone just below its left eye. Its eyes were the same pale, unerring blue, its hair was the same pale blond, but she knew that it wasn't Nick. There was no beautiful, leggy serval sitting at his feet or across his lap, and Lai's absence was almost painful to see, like she was seeing the man with a limb missing. "Hello," she said, proud her voice didn't tremble or shake at all.

His pale eyes moved up to her, unblinking and eerie. "You are Jenny Lewis," he said, his voice flat and empty of emotion. He might as well have been the automatic voice on the answering machine.

"Where is Helen?" she asked, deciding to cut straight to it; the less time she had to spend with this thing, the better. "What does she want with the artefact?"

"I do not know. Mistress never informed me of her plans beyond giving me instruction."

She wondered how this thing had ever gotten inside the ARC at all. It was sheer, blind, stupid bloody luck that nobody had run into the clone before it was too late and Helen was already inside, because one look at this creature and it was glaringly obvious that this thing, whatever it was, was _not_ Nick Cutter, appearance be damned. Her mind briefly flitted back to the real Nick, lying in a hospital bed with machines hooked up to him and Laiguline laid beside him, one of his hands resting on her black-dappled coat. To imagine Cutter without Lai was almost impossible.

Refocusing when Zurial nipped her lightly, she noticed that the clone was staring down at her dæmon. "Stop that," she barked a little sharply, and its gaze snapped back to her face. "Don't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because it's wrong, to stare at someone's dæmon," she replied firmly. "Never stare at them like that."

The clone tilted its head slightly like a puzzled bird. "Dæmon?" it echoed.

"You don't have one," Jenny whispered a little hoarsely. "I won't bother explaining it to you, either. It'd be pointless."

It couldn't answer any of her questions, not really, so she walked away, heading out of Medical. She would talk to Lester later, see if she couldn't have it relocated somewhere else. Preferably Antarctica.

* * *

Once Jenny Lewis and her soul creature had left, the clone reached up and very lightly swept his fingers through his hair before lowering his hand to his lap. In his palm was a miniscule lizard, so small it could have fit comfortably on a euro and still have room to move around. "Why do you not tell her the truth?" a soft, whispering voice queried.

"Because she will Sever us. The Mistress Severed all of the Others if their soul creatures appeared," he reminded. It had happened before. Sometimes, the Others, the ones that were all alike yet did not look like him, had their own soul creatures to appear, sometimes a bird or a dog or a cat. Once the Mistress knew, she would take them to be Severed. A silver blade would fall on them, forever separating them from each other. The Other and the soul creature had screamed as though they were being burnt alive, and then the soul creature vanished in a swirl of glittering gold Dust and the Other was left empty and blank, devoid of life. He was lucky to have a soul creature so small that he could very easily hide her from the Mistress's sharp eyes. "I do not want to lose you."

The puny reptile crept across his palm onto his fingers, barely as long as his fingertip. "I do not want to lose you, either. They think we are unnatural because they believe you have no soul creature," she informed him.

"I know. They may think that if they wish. I would rather be thought unnatural and with you than be Severed and alone." He heard the sound of footsteps approaching the door. The enormous woman with the frighteningly red hair was no doubt coming back. He lifted his hand and let the miniscule reptile creep back into his hair out of sight in an instant. They could think he was unnatural all they wished. He had his own soul, and he would not allow anyone to take her from him.


End file.
